I do not want your room

“There is no room at the inn.”
Everyone knows the tale from long ago. I sit and ponder those words. And I say, I do not want your room!
Room is comfort, coddling, care, protection, advice, words of wisdom, understanding, and sympathy.
Give me your stables rather, if your room means a scimitar through the gut and a knife in the back. Your room is shackles on my ankles grounding me to earth. I would rather float on the outskirts of mankind and into oblivion, than assimilate and be the beneficiary of spittle flying into my ears from screaming mouths, old, wrinkled, crooked and decrepit bony fingers pointing into my face. Rotten and dying minds setting my shoulders in the direction I must take. Smiling lips filled with condescending words and upbraids.
If to smile at no mans jest, and to laugh at no clowns folly, and do no foul miscreant’s bidding means to hear only the echo of mine own footsteps, my ears welcome that sweet echo as if it were the voice of God itself.
The dogs which turn the cogs which drive the world are snarling, biting, jostling, mad and frothing beasts who have torn out their own hearts in return for their place at the mill stone. I have seen them at work and they have lured me into their lair. And here I sit trapped.
The allure was too great. Promises of normalcy, promises of peace of mind and heart, promises of friendship and camaraderie, promises of acceptance and belonging.
The price of belonging is ones heart slashed in twain. Chasing the proverbial carrot I forget what it means to create with mine own hands. The creator has become the consumer. Now I search for sustenance from other hands and I grow fat, obese and lazy.
If to know a thing is half of the way to changing it, than I shall find the strength to stay the course. And I hope for a good wind at my back, for now I know what it is I truly do not want.
May all of us honest folk stay true to our hearts’ bidding and not slip on the icy terrain of the seduction of complacency, normalcy and mediocrity.

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